


Still Breathing

by ellatheresa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, PTSD symptoms, Post-War, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 02:24:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellatheresa/pseuds/ellatheresa
Summary: Without intending to, she breathed life into him again.





	Still Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare Vol.2. Much love to my Beta who shall remain nameless for the moment. 
> 
> Song Prompt - Let It Go by The Plot In You.

_He hadn’t meant for it to happen._   
  
He grabbed two small boxes from his closet and moved from the bedroom, replaying the memories from that night.  
  
“Do you like the hot chocolate?” Hermione relaxed beside him on the settee, blowing softly on her cup of mint tea.   
  
George gave a bleak smile and nodded, remaining silent. The first half of Christmas day he’d spent talking and forcing laughter.  
  
Thankfully, she understood and lowered her lashes as she pressed the cup to her lips.   
  
Christmas proved an exhausting holiday for him. His family had tried to get some form of laughter from him, but he couldn’t give them anything genuine. His full range of capabilities for the day fell to laugh and smile on auto-pilot.   
  
A gust of warm breath brushed his ear. He turned to see her lips moving, but he couldn’t hear a word. He’d spent most of the day like this. His mum had tried asking him something when he’d walked downstairs for breakfast, but when it was obvious he couldn’t understand anything, Hermione jumped to his rescue and distracted her with a question on her recipe for hot chocolate. “ _Oh it’s quite simple, dear…_ ”   
  
Ginny hopped on the train with Hermione to distract his mum at every possible turn and soon found herself roped into helping with the cooking for the day, she quickly dragged Percy into it. He agreed to help under the condition that someone else help with dishes when night fell, to which he gave his first and only genuine smile of the day when Hermione volunteered herself and Charlie for the duty.   
  
The day went by in a blur. Bill sorted presents and he’d forced himself to smile and chuckle whenever he opened something moderately humorous. “Thank you, dad.”   
  
“Of course, son! Ginny, you’re next!”   
  
After dinner, however, his exhausted mood reached the rest of his family and everyone quickly fled to their rooms for the night. This was the first Christmas the entire Weasley brood wouldn’t be present and his parents couldn’t face everyone. His mother quickly excused herself and thanked Hermione and Charlie for helping with the dishes.   
  
“It’s fine, Charlie. Go ahead and go to bed, I got the dishes for the night. I like to hand wash them anyway,” she pressed a chaste kiss to his older brothers cheek and shooed him to his room. “Are you heading to bed, George?”  
  
“Not yet.” He snuggled closer into his spot on the couch.   
  
Her shoulders slumped and the smile on her lips slipped a bit, an exhausted air surrounded her. “Would you like some hot chocolate? I wanted to try out your mothers recipe.”   
  
“Sure, Mione.”   
  
Within two hours, she cleaned the kitchen and brewed some calming mint tea and his mother’s hot chocolate.   
  
George shifted his gaze to Hermione’s face to find she’d gone silent and stared tiredly into the fireplace. She sipped her tea and returned her tired expression to him, drawing him breathless. Her intelligent eyes glittered a whiskey color of multiple hues of liquid copper, amber, and gold.  
  
“I miss them,” she breathed and turned watering eyes back to the fire.   
  
He missed Fred.   
  
He missed Ron.   
  
He missed them all.   
  
“I miss them too.” His words faltered and he silently gasped in a gulp of air.   
  
He’d had trouble with his breathing since he’d woken up that morning. He’d opened his eyes to find the bed across from his empty and he’d sobbed quietly into his pillow for a few minutes, trying to calm the ache in his chest and find his breath again.   
  
“I just.” She sucked in a sharp breath and exhaled shakily. A single tear dropped from her eye.  
  
He quickly calmed his breathing and flinched at the tear falling down her cheek. He hated seeing her cry. Anyone who’d met the Golden Trio understood Hermione as the rock that kept Ron and Harry in line and alive.   
  
Without his permission, his free hand wiped the tear and caressed her satin skin.   
  
“Please don’t cry.” And then, he leaned in and pressed a careful kiss to the corner of her lips. Her silky skin emanated chamomile under his hesitant lips and he froze at the delicate warmth.  
  
He shouldn’t do this. Every bone in his body yelled at his brain to pull back and apologize. This shouldn’t happen. If Ron had seen them, he’d skin him alive for making a move on Hermione. Fred would undoubtedly question his motives. His twin had made it obvious about his intentions with Hermione two Christmas’ ago while they talked in their bedroom. He flinched as his brothers smile flashed behind his closed eyes.  
  
He pulled away, but maintained closed eyes and a hand on her cheek, trying and failing to calm his shaky breathing.   
  
Hermione twisted her head and lowered her lips, touching a tender tongue to the seam of his lips.   
  
She tasted of mint and chocolate and peace and everything he missed in his life since the War. She banished the cups wandlessly and encased his neck in her arms, brushing his hair with smooth fingers. He lowered both of his hands to her waist and shifted her to straddle his lap. Her body fit to his; two misplaced puzzle pieces perfectly connected with the rest of the haphazard puzzle. His brothers slipped away from his thoughts and his breathing came easier with every inhale of her scent.   
  
“Fuck,” she breathed into his parted lips and rubbed herself over his hard length. Her blunt fingernails slid down from his neck, lower on his t-shirt, and-  
  
“George! Ah, there you are! Would you mind helping me with moving these boxes to my room?” Hermione poked her head in from the livingroom to the dining area and smiled. He nodded and brought out his wand to shrink the two boxes on the table but she stopped him with a pleading look. “Please don’t shrink them. We can make a second trip.”   
  
He made to roll his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk playing at his lips and chuckled at her grateful expression. “Thank you,” she smiled and walked out of the room. He turned his eyes back to the spot under the window, the sunlight touching the wood floor beneath.   
  
_But, happen it did._   
  
-he grunted, desperate for her pliable hands to brush lower.  
  
_It started with tender lips and curious tongues._ _  
_ _  
__It started with wandering hands and gentle caresses._ _  
_ _  
__It started with whispered encouragements and hurried pleas._  
  
“Please,” she gasped into his lips. With vigor, she pressed into his lap over his length and made it clear what she wanted. He nodded his consent. Carefully, he managed to slide his fingers under her pant-waistband to find drenched knickers.  
  
She whimpered into his lips and shifted her hand down to undo his jeans, but he halted her. He needed to taste her come on his fingers and tongue; needed her to feel the ground crumble prior his entering her; needed her breathless.  
  
“Slide over, ‘Mione.”  
  
She flashed a bewildered expression but followed his command as he slid to the floor.   
  
“Watch me.” He observed her face to make sure she’d follow his instruction as he used his fingertips to slide both her knickers and cotton pants down slowly. Oh so slowly. He liked the impatient pleading of her eyes as he slipped them past her ankles and to the floor. His mouth watered at the view of her weeping quim.   
  
“You’re breathtaking.”  
  
Gently, he placed his hands at her hips and towed her to the edge of the couch. He kissed his way up her leg, stopping precariously close to her soaked core to slide up and kiss the skin below her navel.  
  
She panted as his fingers glided over her folds, gently caressing the little button at the top. Her moans vibrated through her body to his lips, and her delicious essence spilled on to his tongue. She exuded life. He envied her. He wanted to experience it again. Hermione lowered her fingers to tangle in his hair as he flicked his tongue on her, tasting her, basking in her warmth.  
  
He spent several minutes there. Absorbing her taste and listening to her moans and pleas and every dirty little word that escaped those full, brilliant lips. Her come gushed on to his tongue and he lapped at it hungrily. He pretended to ignore the name she whispered. She imagined him as someone else; someone similar to himself.  
  
He quickly lifted himself from the floor, removed his clothes, sat down on the couch, and lowered her onto his length.   
  
She encompassed every little broken piece of him.  
  
Nothing but her sobbing breath filled his ears. She scratched at his arms and chest, desperate for him to push harder, faster. He pretended her moving lips chanted his name, but they showed another. _She could pretend if she needed it_ ; he’d let her.  
  
“Come for me.” And she did.  
  
She climaxed without a sound, choosing to bite down on his shoulder and giving him enough pleasure-pain for him to follow two thrusts after, filling her with his warmth. He hugged her to his body, panting harshly into her hair as they held one another.   
  
Minutes went by and they stayed connected, neither moving from their embrace as they caught their breath. The clock struck one in the morning, and he moved to stare into her eyes and found understanding affection. She smiled, leaned in to press a kiss to his lips, and wiggled on his lap, inquiring silently if he wanted to go another round. He responded by reaching for his wand on the side table and summoning their clothing to her waiting arms. They apparated to his chosen bedroom in Grimmauld Place.  
  
They remained there for the rest of the night.   
  
And then, the following morning, the sun shone through the windows and he could focus on nothing but her glittering whiskey eyes.  
  
He considered bringing up her whispering of Fred’s name, but settled against it. He’d ignore it; pretend for her. Anything to bask in the peace he’d found after months and months of desolation. His breathing came easy, and left without pain.   
  
“George?” Her voice called from the living room.  
  
“Coming, Mione.” He lifted both boxes from the table and moved to leave, keeping his eyes ahead of him. “Sorry. I spaced out for a moment,” he chuckled at her exasperated expression.   
  
She held a large box marked “trinkets.” He rolled his eyes and gestured to the box, “want to switch?”   
  
She shook her head and smirked. “I’m a big girl! I can handle a box this size.”   
  
“I bet you used a Feather Light charm,” he laughed as her cheeks pinkened and she turned with a huff towards the Floo.   
  
He waited for her to go through first, counted to ten, and followed.   
  
“Hullo, George.” Luna’s airy voice welcomed him once he wiped off the soot from his t-shirt. “I’m glad to see you’re well! Would you like some tea?”   
  
He smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Luna.”   
  
She walked out of the little living room and he took in a deep, steadying breath.   
  
_It was perfect._   
  
They spent the year after Christmas in bliss. They’d found a comfort from the pain and they devoured it recklessly, consumed one another without concern for the consequences.  
  
After they’d left his bedroom the following morning, he’d grabbed her hand and she walked with him down the stairs.   
  
“Mum! Have you seen--”  
  
Ginny’s voice faltered as she looked at the staircase from the kitchen entryway. George smirked and waved at his little sister, to which she rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen.   
  
“I’m telling mum, George!” She had a smile in her voice.   
  
“Ginny! Stop it!” Hermione laughed and let go of his hand, running after the younger redhead. Instead she ran head-first into the waiting arms of his mother. She grinned ear to ear and had watering eyes.   
  
His family welcomed their new romance in the following months, especially his mother. The Weasley matriarch wrapped them in her arms and cried.  
  
They set a trend for his siblings apparently, as three months into the next year, Ginny started going out with Neville Longbottom and weeks after, Harry declared he was seeing Luna Lovegood. Fleur told Bill she was giving him his first child and Percy announced his engagement to Hannah Abbott.   
  
The world clicked into place. The puzzle showed a beautiful image of his healing family. Each piece fit _just_ so; he fought for life again.  
  
_And then, it wasn’t._   
  
“Ginny,” her voice sobbed. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”   
  
George stood outside Ginny’s room in Grimmauld, meaning to knock on the door to alert them of the family heading to the Weasley home for a game of Quidditch. The pain in her voice stopped him.   
  
_So broken._  
  
“I just,” she hiccuped.    
  
“Relax, Herm,” his little sisters voice soothed his love and he stayed silent as he listened. “What’s going on?”  
  
“He spends so much time at the shop that I see him maybe three times a week, other than to sleep,” she huffed. “I’ve tried talking to him about it but it’s like he can’t hear me.” Pause. “We never have sex anymore! Two months! Two months since he’s touched me,” she faltered her last few words and blew a shaking breath. “I just -  I don’t know what to do.”  
  
“Force him to sit down and tell him this, Herm.” His sister’s voice left no room for argument but of course, Hermione would argue.   
  
“I’ve tried! I’ve tried saying we have some important things to talk about over dinner but he comes home late and says the shop got too busy and he apologizes. That’s all I get.” Pause. “I think he’s avoiding me.”  
  
_Was he?_ _  
_ _  
__Was he avoiding the inevitable? Had things fallen apart while he wasn’t paying attention?_  
  
“Oh.” A soft voice floated from behind him and he quickly turned. “Hullo, George.”   
  
His breathing faltered as he stared into the amused blue eyes of Luna Lovegood.

He was nine years old the last time someone caught him eavesdropping. George had warned Fred it wasn’t a good idea at first but quickly followed after his brother to listen to an argument happening between his parents in the kitchen. His mother found them within a few minutes and took away their newly gifted birthday brooms.   
  
With his breath leaving his lungs at an alarmingly unsteady rate, he simply waved.   
  
“Are the girls in there?” Luna pointed to the room behind him and he nodded. “Mind if I enter?”   
  
He moved out of her way, past her curious gaze, and down the stairs. _Was_ he avoiding her?   
  
The immediate sting in his chest confirmed it.  
  
He’d tricked himself into thinking that they’d work out if he ignored the signs from the beginning. He ignored the whispers of Fred’s name; just ignored all of their problems.  
  
In her defense, she hadn't done it since the first night.  
  
Originally, it worked. He ignored his guilt. Nine months into the relationship he stopped putting in effort in taking her on dates, stopped asking for sex, stopped trying to talk with her over meals they shared.  
  
He started avoiding her because she reminded him of Fred. One specific memory of his brother telling him something when they’d gone home for Christmas Hols during their Seventh year stood out.  
  
_“Hermione’s looking fit this year,” Fred chuckled while they unpacked their trunks._ _  
_ _  
__“I haven’t noticed,” George shrugged, but stopped and turned a smirk to his twin. “You have a thing for swotty Granger?”_ _  
_ _  
__Fred responded with an amused smile and roll of his eyes_.  
  
As far as he knew, Fred maintained that little crush up ‘til he died. And now, he saw nothing but Fred's smile when he looked at Hermione.   
  
Nothing changed the next Christmas. Ginny and Percy helped his mother with dinner and pudding, and asked Hermione to clean up and do dishes.   
  
Charlie offered to help this time around.   
  
“More people around this year so I’ll help out if you’d like.”   
  
George didn’t care much for his older brothers lithe tone, and when he opened his mouth to say as much, he paused. Hermione’s giggle filled the room.   
  
“Well if you insist,” she smirked and handed him a washcloth to dry the wet dishes by hand. She always insisted on doing the dishes the muggle way. George used to tease her about it when they started dating.   
  
He stood at the edge of the entryway to the kitchen and silently witnessed his brother reignite a flame that he’d unknowingly extinguished.  
  
He moved into the hallway and leaned against the wall, listened to the soft voices and tinkling laughter and allowed himself to ride the wave of anguish in his chest. Were things so bad she unabashedly flirted with his brother?  
  
George took in a deep breath and released it with a sigh as he ran fingers through his hair. She hadn’t provoked the flirting - she simply responded with her kindness.   
  
_She wasn’t his anymore. She truly never was_.   
  
Six months later, while drying his hair after a shower, he studied himself in the mirror.   
  
His brown eyes beamed with life. He’d put on a bit of weight and muscle since the War. His skin wasn’t so sallow and he no longer had dark circles under his eyes.   
  
He looked alive. Once more, his entire body emanated fire.  
  
“ _From walking home and talking loads,_ ” a soft feminine hum floated under the doorway and into the restroom, “ _to seeing shows in evening clothes with you._ ”   
  
She breathed that fire into him. The marvelous woman preparing dinner and singing away gave him reason to fight for the spark of life again.   
  
He slipped his t-shirt on, stepped into the hallway, and turned into the living room to watch his love move about the kitchen - but he stopped mid-step as he caught sight of her face.   
  
“ _From nervous touch and getting drunk,_ ” she turned to the sink, facing him. “ _To staying up and waking up with you._ ”  
  
No longer did her eyes glow, and her skin appeared ashen. Her shoulders drooped and his chest stung.   
  
“Hey love.”   
  
She looked up, gave a tense smile, and looked down to continue working on dinner.  
  
He flinched. He’d stolen all of her fire.   
  
“That’s a pretty song,” George inched his way across the living room and into the kitchen. She hummed, not lifting her eyes from her task of chopping chicken. “You hear it while hanging out with girls the other day?” She nodded.  
  
“Would you like help with dinner?”   
  
She shook her head. She wasn’t speaking to him.   
  
He debated the best way to go about this, but every course of action ended with them arguing. He hated arguing with her.   
  
“You sure? I can--”  
  
“Really, George. I’ve got it. Maybe you could go set the table?”   
  
He’d stolen it all.   
  
All of that wondrous fire.  
  
She wouldn’t even look at him. Her shoulders stiffened and she’d stopped humming. _Why wouldn’t she look at him?_   
  
“No.” Instantly, regret hit his chest and filled his lungs.   
  
She paused in her chopping and turned questioning eyes to him.   
  
“I’m sorry.” He just had to open his mouth, didn’t he? _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._  
  
She scrunched her brow and with a wave of her hand put the food on the stove in a stasis charm. “What’s wrong?”   
  
“I-I’m,” he wasn’t sure where to begin, or if he even should. “You know I love you.”  
  
With an almost audible click, her brain whirled into overdrive. Her eyes narrowed a fraction and she tensed. “George. What’s going on?”   
  
“I just,” he crossed his arms. “I wanted to remind you.” _Had the Sorting Hat made a mistake placing him in Gryffindor?_   
  
“While the gesture is sweet, I doubt that’s what’s got you in this state,” she gestured to his tightly wound form. With a small nod she walked past him into the dining area and sat in one of the dining chairs. “Please,” she placed her hands on her lap and met his eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong.”   
  
So, he did.  
  
He sat down, held her hand in his, and cried as he admitted his thoughts. He told her everything: about the stinging when he thought of their first night together, his jealousy of his brothers flirtations last Christmas, how he watched her when she cooked and found the fire in her eyes fading, and about Fred.   
  
The air stilled while he shared the memory of their conversation all those years ago. His voice dropped to a whisper and his hands shook.   
  
“He’s all I see when I look at you.”   
  
_The admission broke her calm resolve._   
  
“Why haven’t you shared any of this?” Hermione jerked from his hand and paced, her fists trembled with each step. “Why are you telling me any of this now?”   
  
He wasn't sure how to respond.   
  
“You haven’t talked to me in months, George. Months! You left me out,” she threw her arms out and huffed. “You haven’t spoken to me in what feels like years! Barely even touched me! We haven’t had sex in months! Gods. It’s almost been a year!”   
  
She crumbled to the floor and flinched as his fingers caught her waist. “I thought I might have hallucinated a part of that first night. I didn’t know I’d spoken anything out loud and I’m--” She hiccuped and threw her arms around his neck, releasing months and months of tension onto his shoulder.   
  
Hours they remained there, dinner forgotten and Floo locked.   
  
Against the wall, hours into the early morning, George peppered caressing kisses to her forehead and stroked her tangled hair. Where would they go from here? Where _could_ they go from here?   
  
They couldn’t take anything back. They'd shared far too many words, and secrets spilled from their lips with ease after the crying stopped.   
  
Her frazzled curls filled his vision while she talked. They sat against the wall with her body draped over his on the floor.  
  
“He,” she paused, “asked me on a date to the abandoned second-floor classroom.” She vibrated with silent laughter. “I almost slapped him for suggesting I would so casually sleep with him, but he quickly amended that his intentions weren’t of the salacious sort.” She snuggled deeper into George’s shoulder, her words muffled by her lips brushing his t-shirt. “I believed him, despite the questionable history of your pranking,” she giggled. “I met with him during lunch one day and that was it.”   
  
“That explains his disappearances the beginning of Seventh year. He never told me where he ran off to, only that I didn’t need to worry and I’d find out soon enough.”  
  
“We planned on telling everyone once the school year was over,” her fists clenched his shirt. “But things… happened, and we put our relationship on the back-burner. Harry and our families were most important.”   
  
Silence was their companion for another hour after she stopped talking, but soon, her body relaxed and he fell asleep to the music of her breathing.  
  
“Are you still here?” Hermione’s amused giggle broke his concentration and he turned to find her leaning against the wall leading to a hallway. “I thought you’d already gone back for the other boxes?”   
  
He blinked and heat flushed his cheeks. “Er. Apologies. I spaced out again.”   
  
She rolled her eyes and, with an amused smile, threw her thumb over her shoulder. “Follow me, I’ll tell you where to put the boxes.”   
  
He nodded and followed her slow form, taking a deep inhale of the cool air of the small cottage hallway.   
  
“You sure everything is going to fit in here?” He shuffled in after her and glanced around the small room. The walls had a soft blue-grey hue while covered in small bits of dust, and the pale wooden floor beneath them creaked slightly with both of their added weight.  “Not to mention the cleaning…”  
  
Hermione waved him off and shook her head. “Luna and I are going to wipe this place spotless before we unpack anything. I’ll take these two boxes, do you mind grabbing the last two?”   
  
He handed her the small boxes and walked out, his hands in his pockets, his mind leaving the present again.   
  
They woke up the same way as they’d fallen asleep: on the floor curled around one another. He woke first, Hermione following a few minutes after.  
  
And then, the following morning, the sun shone through the windows and he could focus on nothing but her glittering whiskey eyes.   
  
For once, Hermione looked uncertain and as she opened her lips, her fingertips brushed his cheek. “What do we do now?” Her voice shook with every word.  
  
“We learn how to breathe again.” And perfectly, she understood.  
  
“George!” Luna’s gentle voice floated to his ears as he reached up to grab some Floo powder. “How do you like your tea? I’ll have it ready for you when you get back.”   
  
He smiled at the blonde and gave his preferences. She waved him off and he returned to his home to grab the last of Hermione’s things.  
  
“Where did she put them?” He mumbled to his home as he stalked around, keeping careful eyes on the whereabouts of the cardboard boxes.   
  
“A-hah!” He walked into the bathroom to find them resting on the floor by the bathtub and picked up both. The boxes had significant weight compared to the others, but he figured they had the rest of her toiletries.   
  
He placed them on the sink, and looked into the mirror.   
  
_She was leaving_.  
  
They’d discussed it for two days after their talk in the dining room and spent another three days packing all of her things - the muggle way. She’d asked Luna if she could stay with her until she’d found a flat and Luna waved off her worries. “You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need, Hermione.”   
  
Despite the dour mood of the day, his eyes glittered. She reignited his inspiration for life, eased his heavy heart and gave him reason to fight for breath again.   
  
His breath came easy now, every day he had hope.   
  
_She gave that to him_.   
  
He grabbed the last two boxes and walked through his home, smiling the entire way through the Floo and in Luna’s home.   
  
“You found them!” Hermione glimmered and pointed to her closet door. “Thank you so, so much, George!”   
  
He chuckled and placed them inside her open closet.   
  
“How will you manage to fend for yourself without my help?” Hermione sat down on her single bed against the wall, her eyes watered as she teased him.   
  
“Oh I’m sure you both might see me stop by from time to time, begging for scraps,” he laughed and brushed his hands on his jeans. “I’m sure I’ll find things you forgot and have to bring them over.”   
  
She didn’t reply. She looked down at her clasped hands on her lap, her chest fell and rose slowly as she tried to regain control of her breathing.   
  
“Are you sure this is a good i-idea?” She stuttered the last word, wringing her hands.  
  
George walked carefully to her and knelt at her feet, catching her watering eyes with his and smiled. “This is a brilliant idea. All of your ideas are brilliant.”  
  
“I just.” She sighed and lowered her wet lashes.   
  
He took her hands in his. “Thank you, Hermione Granger.” She looked up and he grinned. “Thank you for helping me through some of the hardest moments of my life. I wish I could say I’ve done the same for you as a lover, but I’m here, every step of the way to help you as a friend...catch your breath as you’ve helped me catch mine.”  
  
The corner of her lips quirked up and she hesitantly raised her arms and wrapped them around his shoulders.   
  
They hugged and he took in easy, fulfilling breaths. She left his arms to look beyond his shoulder and smiled at a beaming Luna.

 

" _Who's ready for tea?_ "

  



End file.
